


Wear and Tear

by rokudaime



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Drug Abuse, Gen, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Prostitution, Spoilers to ep. 7/ch. 16, because Nic, because Worick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6106105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokudaime/pseuds/rokudaime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicolas needs to stop running himself ragged. Worick needs to tell him so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wear and Tear

 

These ones were always exhausting.

Every so often, Worick would get stuck with a client who came at him with high expectations and a flawed understanding of the service he provided. Usually this happened through word-of-mouth — one client talked him up, a friend got his number. It was only a problem when said client failed to pass on that he was a _gigolo_ , the whole wine and dine and spoil with affection package, and not simply a tireless fucking machine.

Of course he _could_  be, if he had to. He just didn’t like it. It was as dull as it was draining — too mechanical for his taste. Too much like working in the brothel had been. He’d left for many reasons, not all of them tied into mafia politics. As much as he hated being under Corsica’s thumb, he hated the blatant objectification he’d felt in that place more. Going freelance let him set his own terms, ones he could live with.

For the most part. Then there were days like this. Afternoons spent staring at a stranger’s back and thinking of kissing her (chest pressed against his, breath on his skin, all the intimacy she wouldn’t allow) just to keep it up. This client was boring, and so was his day overall, until it wasn’t.

Right around the time Worick noticed the figure crouched outside the window. He ran it backwards in his head — three, two, one flights of stairs, three stories off the ground. But of course it was Nicolas, and it’d take a lot more than that to stop him.

_Uppers_ , he signed.

 

 

Worick wrapped things up with the client as fast as decently possible. He’d managed to keep her from noticing Nicolas, despite the close call when she turned around to ask him why he’d stopped. No more than ten minutes had elapsed between Nic’s arrival and the moment he stumbled out into the street, still pulling on clothes, with a wad of cash and no goodbye kiss for his trouble.

“Took too long.”

Nicolas never used his voice without reason. In this case Worick suspected it was to convey his annoyance — though it was obvious just by looking at him, leaned against the wall without a trace of relaxation in the lines of his body. Worick abandoned whatever retort he might’ve made before it formed. He didn’t joke with this Nicolas. Wound so tight, he had to have taken uppers already, but it wasn’t enough.

“Guessing you tried the Doctor already?”

Nicolas grunted, but this time he signed. _No answer_.

Worick noted that his hands were trembling slightly. As he came closer, he tried to make his scrutinizing Nic look casual. “Well?” he asked, shouldering on his jacket over the half-buttoned shirt. “What’s the big deal?”

_A-rank shit-stirrer_. Nicolas rushed through the explanation, signing shorthand no one but Worick would understand. _Don’t know where he came from or who hired him but someone needs to take him down_.

Worick only hesitated a beat longer before reaching into his pocket for the bottle. If the Tagged in question had been any lower ranked, he might’ve stood a chance of talking Nicolas into taking a reasonable dose. As it was, Worick could only watch as he snatched the bottle away from him and tossed back a handful to crush between his teeth.

He knew he wasn’t imagining it. Though he still could look at Nicolas and see his teenage self, the strain on his body this lifestyle inflicted was growing increasingly harder to ignore. The time he’d spent in bed at Theo’s clinic in the past month alone would be enough to cause alarm, if they were to think about it. But they never _really_  thought about it. It was a vague worry nagging at the back of Worick’s mind, not enough to break them out of a routine that’d been the same for two decades.

As virtually the only neutral party left in this city, they were in high demand. Everyone knew the Benriya could be called upon as a last resort. Sometimes for Worick’s rare skill in identification, but far more often, it was Nicolas they really wanted. Everyone wanted Nicolas, and always for those tags around his neck.

_A/0_. Worick stared at them, long enough that Nicolas noticed and gave him one of those grins Worick rarely saw, and only before a fight like this. All teeth and no warmth.

“Be careful,” Worick told him. He didn’t know if Nicolas saw. He was already on the move, vaulting over his head to the rooftops and out of sight.

 

 

Worick would only be in the way in a fight between Tags. Evenly matched, one-on-one, Nicolas could defeat just about anyone, Worick knew from experience. He wasn’t worried about him. Nic could handle this.

He cancelled with his next client all the same. She was a regular, and indulged him entirely too much in everything, so she didn’t mind. The only other job he had lined up for this afternoon (a delivery) wasn’t time-sensitive, which meant it could wait.

He wasn’t worried, and he didn’t follow him. He knew roughly which direction Nicolas had taken off in — 7th street — and Worick kept on toward home. He hadn’t had an afternoon off in weeks, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t make the most of it. Maybe he’d order takeout. Maybe just crash for a few hours. He could use the sleep.

How he ended up treading the backstreets near Bastard, he wasn’t entirely sure. Probably habit. He tended to run on autopilot sometimes, feet carrying him to the usual destination while his mind wandered elsewhere. He’d overshot their street by a good deal, but he didn’t turn around. This was just as good. There was always plenty to keep him entertained in this neighborhood.

Early as it was, most of the good clubs weren’t in full swing, if they were open at all. That didn’t stop scattered crowds from hanging about, waiting for nightfall and the party to begin. Some of the men he passed greeted him with a nod, or a smile, and in one case, a healthy pat on the ass. The attention he garnered from the women was less subtle. He couldn’t walk a block without his name piercing through the din of conversation. He waved at those he recognized and those he didn’t alike, blowing kisses indiscriminately.

A block from Bastard he was seized by the arm and pulled into a circle of women. Most of them were absorbed in talking with each other and ignored his arrival. The brunette clinging to him he identified immediately as Cerise, a former co-worker and occasional lover.

“How’s my beautiful girl tonight?” he grinned at her, earning a smack upside the head.

“Just look how he talks to me like all the others. I see right through you, Worick,” she said rather crossly, and gave him a lipstick-heavy kiss on the cheek all the same. “I was just telling the girls how we never see you anymore. Always busy these days, aren’t you?”

“Ahh, you know,” he replied airily, a wistful smile in place as he gazed off into the distance for effect. “A man’s gotta make a living.”

“And here you are slacking off while your partner does all the work,” another girl chimed in.

Worick’s smile faded only slightly. “Come again?”

“I saw him down by the police station, fighting that guy. Everyone’s scared to get involved. Someone might get their head cut off.”

“Or shot.”

Worick felt the last of the smile leave his lips. If his opponent was an A-level marksman, that changed things. His money was still on Nicolas — it _always_  was — but it did make the fight distinctly more unpredictable.

He didn’t like unpredictable. Not where Nicolas was concerned.

 

 

It was already over by the time he got there.

They were easy to find. He only had to follow the horrified crowd as they fled the area. At its epicenter was Nic, covered in blood, holding his sword loosely at his side. The other Tagged lay in pieces around him.

Worick had a single moment to bask in relief before he realized what was wrong. Before he realized how much of the blood was Nic’s. In another few heartbeats he was close enough to hear the strained, thin wheeze of Nicolas breathing.

It sounded all wrong. He’d been shot in the chest, Worick saw with a jolt that chilled his blood. Nicolas was staring down at the bullet wound too, like he couldn’t quite believe it himself, but it was as real and red and terrible as the corpse strewn at his feet. Worick grabbed his shoulder to get his attention.

“We need to get you to Theo.”

Nicolas tried to say something, but the sounds he could get through his throat wouldn’t form into words. The effort was painful to watch.

“I know, he wasn’t there. He better be now. If he’s not, I’m gonna find him.”

There wasn’t time to call for a ride, Worick knew. The clinic wasn’t really very far — though at this hampered pace, steadying Nic on his feet, the sidewalk stretched endlessly. The fact that Nicolas could walk at all in this state was a feat in itself. God, he was strong. Too strong for his own good. It let him act like he was invincible, and Worick was getting tired of reminding him he wasn’t.

They reached the clinic some minutes later. His hard raps on the door were followed in seconds by Nina opening it, flooding Worick with relief.

“Is the doctor in?” he asked, half-hysterical and out of breath. She nodded and moved aside to let them in. Theo appeared from behind a white curtain, tugged aside in a brisk motion. He took one look at Nicolas and cleared the way to a cot.

Worick helped him onto it. He laid down without complaint, but Worick hadn’t seen his eyes this close to panic in years. More years than he’d like to remember. He was struggling hard to breathe, and raised his hands to sign at Worick — fast and sloppy, words that cut him deep.

Then Theo was between them, leaning in to listen to Nic’s chest and blocking Worick’s view. Nina was laying out instruments on a tray behind him, the metallic click of each setting his teeth on edge, but the question echoing in his mind was louder.

_I’m dying, aren’t I?_

“Nina, put him under. We’re going to need to open him up. Worick.” Theo paused and waited, raising his voice when he got no response. “Worick! Get out of here.”

He turned immediately and made for the door.

 

 

Out in the street he ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath to steady himself. It didn’t work, and his exhale shuddered. He never lost his composure like this. Not when his own life was hanging by a thread — he’d face death with a smile, and put it down to a miracle if he made it out alive. That was old hat by now. But he was merely human, and shockingly breakable as humans are. He accepted this fully and got by on luck and sheer balls alone.

It was an entirely different thing to see Nicolas looking every bit as breakable as him. Nicolas, the unrivalled elite of Twilights, Nicolas who could take anything and anyone and never even break a sweat. It wasn’t often that Worick was forced to contemplate life without him, but when those moments came he would find himself right back here — struggling uselessly against the knowledge that there was nothing that scared him more.

He stopped pacing and sat down on the stoop across the street after a few minutes. They crawled by at an agonizing pace, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour before the doors in front of him opened and Theo came out to meet him.

“It’s good you got him here as soon as you did. He’d nearly suffocated.” Worick must’ve looked as distraught as he felt, because Theo was swift to reassure him. “He’s fine now. Well, I should say stable. He won’t be waking up for a while. His injuries…”

He trailed off into grave silence and pulled out a cigarette. Worick watched him light it, making no move to take one when the doctor offered the pack before putting it away.

“How bad was it?”

Theo seemed to consider how much he should tell him before he did. “The bullet had gone through cleanly, so there was nothing to remove, but it did cause a lot of damage. Most troublesome being that it ruptured his trachea. Pneumothorax led to a collapsed lung. The other one would’ve followed if we hadn’t gotten in there.”

Worick’s head was beginning to ache as he took this all in. He pressed a hand to his forehead, rubbing across it as if that could relieve the tension, and half-absently slid it down to press against the empty socket. That old pain was acting up now, too. It always did on days like this.

“I know how your partner feels about following doctor’s orders, but this time it’s important he rest and let it heal properly.” Worick waited for him to continue; when he didn’t, Worick looked up. He found Theo studying him closely. “He’s reckless, isn’t he? Moreso than usual?”

Worick didn’t say _yes_  only on principle — he never liked being read like this. “He does what he has to,” he settled on instead, but the words didn’t feel right in his mouth. They felt even worse hanging in the air between them. Tinged with all sorts of things he hated.

Theo surveyed him coolly as he finished his cigarette. He dropped the filter to burn itself out on the pavement.

“You really should keep him in check. You know how valuable he is.”

 

 

Worick was there when he woke up. He made sure of it.

He’d been dropping in every few hours for status reports from Nina, and when she told him Nicolas would likely be coming out of it soon, he planted himself in a chair beside the bed and waited.

Nicolas lying there unconscious, dark circles smudged under each eye, looked at once younger than his thirty-four years and very, very tired. His skin had taken on a faint but sickly greyish cast. Under the blanket he had no shirt on, giving Worick a glimpse of the bandages that covered him extensively.  It was strange to see his face looking so untroubled, smoothed of the perpetual scowl that rendered it severe in his waking hours and lingered behind in ghost-form even while he slept. Must be whatever he had in that I.V., Worick could only assume.

He waited and waited. Theo seemed mildly annoyed by the extra presence (more patients showed up during the night, including one almost as badly injured as Nicolas — though not bad enough to keep from complaining, and loudly) but Worick ignored him. Theo at least knew better than to ask him to leave. When Nicolas’s eyes opened (only for him to groan, squinting them at the light) Theo was at the bedside within seconds, checking vital signs and ensuring he was lucid, but just as quickly he was gone, and he didn’t intrude on their privacy again.

Worick didn’t speak for several moments. Last night’s dread had faded into a pervasive, general unease but now that he knew Nicolas was okay (grumbling all the way through Theo’s examination, signing at Worick to _make him go away_ ) it was as if a fog had lifted and he was faced with the feelings that were left, stark and ugly, in its wake. He was angry — more than that, he was _furious_  that Nic had gotten in so far over his head and not had the judgment to bow out. He was almost shaking with it, but he held it in. He didn’t want that to be the first thing Nicolas faced upon waking.

He stared at Nicolas; blinking serenely, Nicolas stared back. Worick craved a cigarette so bad it pained him.

“You look like shit,” he said eventually. “But, you’re alive.”

_Guess I was wrong_ , Nicolas signed back. His face was devoid of any readable emotion. Worick felt the anger flare again.

“You don’t know how close you came. He said if it had taken any longer to get you here, you’d have died. If I’d gone on to my next client, you’d be dead right now. You get that? No one else would’ve saved you.”

Nicolas, eyes narrowed, looked vaguely bored with the conversation already. _The cops would’ve found me before long_.

“And taken you where? It looked like a damn crime scene, Nic. They’d’ve had you in cuffs before you could explain.”

Nicolas only shrugged. Worick felt the indifference like a physical blow. He’d opened his mouth to say something about it when Nicolas, pointedly, looked away.

He stared up at the white curtain behind Worick’s head and ignored him completely. It was no use trying to get his attention back — there was no talking to Nicolas unless he felt like listening. With a heavy breath, Worick managed to regain his composure and settled back into his chair to wait. The stalemate dragged on. Nina was humming somewhere. Worick was listening to the problem patient bugging Theo for more drugs and toying with the idea of a bribe to cut back on Nic’s supply when hands moving in his peripheral vision made him turn.

_You ditched your client?_  Nicolas was asking. _Why?_

Worick tried to get away with not answering him, only to realize that he had no good answer in the first place. Though he did have a feeling. It was rather obvious in hindsight.

“I don’t know.” Nicolas raised an eyebrow at that. “What, I need a reason to want a day off?” he shot back.

Nicolas tilted his head, eyeing him obliquely. _You always want one. Never take one._

Tense as he was under the spotlight of Nic’s curiosity, Worick couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. There was finally something on Nicolas’s face besides apathy.

“I don’t know,” he said again. His lips felt dry and he licked them, while his gaze wandered and then settled on the edge of the curtain. It fluttered in the draft let in by the front door as yet another customer entered. He needed a cigarette, and probably a drink if Nic kept this up much longer.

“You were worried about me.”

With Nicolas’s throat so recently repaired, his voice was even rougher than usual, and it startled the next patient over into silence. Worick looked at him again even though it wasn’t fair — Nic could avoid conversations if he wanted to, but Worick never could.

His lips twitched into a smile, one that felt more like reflex than anything. “Can you blame me?” For the ache in his chest, he thought own his voice sounded remarkably even.

Nicolas gave a long-suffering sort of huff at that and raised his eyes briefly to the ceiling. _What else do you expect me to do?_

“I don’t fucking know,” Worick mumbled, and rubbed his hands over his face. “Let the Guild take them sometimes? You know you don’t have to burn yourself out and end up in a hospital bed every time some rogue tries to start shit.”

Anyone else would have taken Nicolas’s glare as the warning it was and lost their resolve. _I’m not just gonna sit on my ass and wait when I know I could stop them_.

“It’s not really your problem, is it? It’s theirs. And they’ve got more than enough guys of your caliber to handle it.”

In lieu of a response, Nicolas fumed in silence. The waiting wasn’t the problem. A lack of faith in the Guild wasn’t, either. Worick knew what the problem was, and what he was really asking.

“I know… you like to keep busy,” he edged carefully, because _I know you need fights like you need oxygen_  and _I know you need to feel useful or you don’t deserve to keep living_  weren’t things he could come right out and say. “But, Nic. You need to be smarter about who you fight. And how much of that shit you take.”

The comedown from an overdose was awful, injured or not. That much was obvious. Nicolas really did look terrible, and it didn’t help that his hands formed the one question that always made them both so tired. _Why?_

“Because — goddamn it, Nic, you’re gonna die on me, and you’re not allowed to do that.”

He expected his words to have some impact, but not the one they did. He wasn’t prepared for Nicolas’s eyes to lose their anger, instead going cold as he receded into some part of himself that Worick couldn’t touch. _Yeah, I remember. Just about the first order you ever gave me._

For a moment he was too stunned to react. He didn’t know if Nicolas could tell the difference between a laugh and the breath he let out, forceful and ragged. “You can’t think I mean it the way I did back then.”

The flood of memory turned his stomach — blood, staring dead eyes, his own voice a ragged shout. _Did you think I’d let you die so easily?_

Nicolas didn’t answer. His flat stare gave away nothing, and Worick felt unaccountably weary.

“Please tell me that you know,” he started slowly. “After all the shit we’ve been through together, after all these years and I _still_  drag your ass around day-in, day-out, that the reason I don’t want you to die is a fuck of a lot more than that?” No answer from Nic; nothing. He took another breath, and this time he did laugh — short, incredulous. “I was out of my fucking mind that day with shock, not to mention the pain. You can’t really think what I said in anger at thirteen is how I feel about you now.”

_Why then?_  Nicolas’s face was still too guarded to read. _Because I’m all you have left?_

Damn him for making Worick say it.

“Because I fucking love you, Nic.”

He would have said more if Nicolas hadn’t looked absolutely staggered by that. There was too much he had to say, caught in his chest and getting heavier the longer it went unsaid, but it was Nicolas’s face that gave him pause. He didn’t have to look so surprised. For the first time since he’d gotten here, Worick felt a little self-conscious. He sat back in his seat and crossed his legs, ankle over knee. No good. He was too restless, growing claustrophobic in the ringing silence. Both boots hit the ground again.

“Anyway, you’re dense as brick for not realizing it earlier.” He stood and rummaged in his pockets for a pack. “I’m going for a cigarette.”

He ignored every pair of eyes on the way out.

 

 

There wasn’t really anything in Ergastulum that could be called a scenic view, but this stretch of wall, with its overlapping spraypaint masterpieces left dormant long enough to grow vines creeping up its surface towards the sun, was about as close as it came.

Worick had chain-smoked two cigarettes and was fitting a third between his lips, preparing to light it, when the thought occurred to him that maybe he should head back. Even with fresh stitches holding his chest together, nothing and no one could stop Nicolas if he didn’t want to stay put.

On the walk back he found himself hoping Nicolas had fallen asleep again, so he didn’t know why he should feel let down when he saw that was the case. He didn’t know what he’d expected. Just the thought of having this conversation, of distilling all these raw, ugly things inside him into words, made his skin crawl.

He took in a breath, looking down at Nic’s unconscious form, and sank into the chair again. The sigh he heaved out contained a lot more than spent air — some of his tension was gone with it.

Maybe they didn’t have to talk. Maybe Nicolas would pretend he’d never said it. That didn’t sound far off at all, from what he knew of Nicolas — but then again, he’d never known enough. Some people were easy to read; one cursory look and he’d have them figured out completely. Nicolas, he was still trying to translate into a language he understood.

Which made this whole confession thing seem mighty foolish, in retrospect.

He sagged forward onto his elbows, hands tangled into hair. Maybe he’d fucked everything up. Maybe Nicolas was weirded out, and things wouldn’t be the same between them now. He wished he’d thought of this possibility before he opened his big mouth.

Another sigh, this one of defeat, and he dropped his hand, leaning heavily on the other where it dug into his cheekbone almost painfully.

And he felt warmth curl around two fingers of the hand he’d left dangling near the bed.

_Ahh, shit_.

That was his first thought, after the shock wore off, because there was simply no way Nicolas could have known about his weakness. Which meant, by some cruel twist of fate, Nic was just as big a softie as him.

If there was a kink known to man, Worick had almost certainly tried it at least once. Sex in public, in every position, with every toy and prop, threesomes and foursomes and elaborate fantasy scenes — it was all just sex, and it wasn’t what turned him on.

This shit right here — holding hands like fucking virgins, feeling what it did to his heartbeat — this was it.

He might play at it with his clients to get his rocks off and earn a living, but all the while he knew it would never be more than an act, and he’d all but given up on finding the real thing.

Funny that he didn’t have to look anywhere at all.

He stared at Nicolas, who met his incredulous eyes with a drowsy calm and no hint of hesitation at all. Worick felt his lips curving into a smile. His raised brow was a question.

_You too?_

Nicolas gave his fingers the tiniest squeeze, and looked away. It was all the answer Worick needed.

_I love you too. Let’s not make a big deal of it._  
  


**Author's Note:**

> first fic in this fandom c': hope you enjoyed!


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